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LETTERS FROM THE SEA-SIDE. 



I. 

Westhampton, L. I., July 24, 1876. 
To the Editor : 

It has been hot down on this refreshing sea-shore spot, 
but what a paradise it is compared with the seething pan- 
demonium of the city. To be away from the sight of busy, 
strugghng humanity, from scenes where human life is active, 
aggressive and overtasked, and to enjoy the delicious quiet- 
ness of the country, where the trees and grass and all the 
blessed things of nature "toil not," is a pleasure that 
Solomon could not call vanity. The human mind is ever 
seeking rest. The repose that comes after labor and worry 
is really the chiefest of human enjoyments. It is the glory 
of this and similar cjuiet retreats in the country that they 
satisfy this sentiment of our nature. Here there is no big 
hotel, where crowds of human beings by friction keep up 
an excitement, and where most work hard for what they 
call recreation by social dissipation of some sort — and here 
also is no village, where town gossip and village loafers 
are features of country life — but only a few scattered 
houses where " boarders " are taken, and the sweet, quiet 
landscape that stretches for half a mile down to the great 
ocean before us, inspiring in us the consolation of blessed 
rest. Oh, how delightful to sit upon the porch of our 
antiquated cottage, now over two hundred years old, and to 
breathe in the pure, cool, salt air, freighted with the health- 
principle, that constantly blows from the sea. And what 
a mystery is the ocean ! It is the great sanitary regulator 
of the world. It cools, and refreshes, and purifies the at- 






mosphere that becomes sick and fetid with the exhalations 
of the land. What consummate chemistry lurks in its 
saline depths ! It seems to surge and pour its angry surf 
upon the shore as if in sport, and in defiance of all law, 
whereas it is stirred and tossed about by storms and currents 
that are nicely adjusted conditions of its existence. Its 
active principle of salt is measured by an unerring alchemy 
that ever freshens and renews ; and while a vortex for the 
filth of the world, it converts all refuse, and debris, in the 
alembic of its bosom into pure elements that disinfect and 
animate all creation. 

The poetry of the ocean is a ])rolific theme, but if I 
indulged in rhapsodies you might justly think they were 
Byron's and not my own. So I will not descant upon its 
poetic features, but simply remark that it knows no change, 
and defies the law of mutability that governs all else. It is 
the most constant friend I find in life. When after months, 
or years, of absence, I return to its surf-beaten shores it 
gives me the same honest greeting that saluted me at first. 
Its integrity is not limited by years : 

" Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now." 

The parish of Westhampton covers many small necks of 
land each having its individual name derived from Indian 
tradition. The one on which our house stands is call- 
ed Ketchabonack — others are Potunk, Mesuck, Oneck, 
Quiogue, Paukuk, Speonk and Quoque. These titles are, 
perhaps, not euphonious except to Long Island ears, but 
they have a local twang that tells its own story of aborigi- 
nal custom that must excite the respect of outsiders. We 
are staying in a farm-house which is occupied by descend- 
ants of the family who built it two hundred years ago. 
The Long Island people are a peculiar race. They are a 
thrifty set, and they intermarry so frequently that the same 
families and names continue in the community for centuries. 
Very seldom a stranger settles in this vicinity. The jieople 
have pride^iof family, and glory in owning and cultivating 
the acres that belonged to their ancestors. 



There is only one outsider in view of these premises, and 
that is General Dix, who has for many long years been en- 
amored with the south side of Long Island, and who has 
built a large summer house half way between us and the 
ocean, which is the chief object of interest in the land- 
scape as I look out at this moment. The general is an 
ardent sportsman, and he may be seen every day sitting 
under an improvised brush screen looking over his decoy 
snipe, with gun 'in hand, watching for the flight of yellow- 
legs, plover or curlews. The genial hospitality of his house 
is one of the charms of this place. Its interior is quite 
unique, and all its furnishing is harmonious, and dictated 
by a most refined taste for the picturesque and the quaint. 
Old-fashioned furniture, odd tiles, and curious china are 
introduced with artistic taste, but the atmosphere is domes- 
tic as if these things were for embellishment, and not for 
mere show. How seldom do we find in fashionable houses 
a spirit of home, where culture and grace color the atmos- 
phere, and where art and refinement are the expression of 
the taste of the occupants. Such houses look as if they 
were lived in and used; and not like the many elegant 
establishments furnished with costly and tasteful objects of 
art for the pride of their cost, and for exhibition to visitors 
whose aesthetic taste is more cultivated than their own,— 
but rather such houses are furnished for domestic apprecia- 
tion, and for their influence upon the circle at home, who, 
with an active love for the beautiful, enjoy quietly the at- 
tractive things in art and literature which they gradually 
collect about them. 

There are two large boarding-houses (called hotels) near 
us capable of accommodating about sixty people each— one 
kept by Mortimer Howell, the son of our farmer-landlord, 
and the other by Edwin Halsey, the brother of our hostess' 
Three or four farm houses also take a few boarders, so that 
when the visitors are all aggregated on the beach, as they 
are every morning for bathing in the surf, there seems to be 
quite an assemblage. We all drive to the beach which is 
three-quarters of a mile off, and the various vehicles all 



standing on the shore, most of them plain farm wagons, to- 
gether with the picturesque shelter-houses covered with 
fresh brush, and all occupied by a crowd of interested peo- 
ple, some in quaint costumes and nearly all with large 
sombrero hats, form, in connection with the bathers' rol- 
licking in the surf, clothed in all the possible colors that 
flannel is capable of receiving, a scene that might shock a 
fastidious snob, but which is full of aesthetic, and character 
interest to any earnest lover of the picturesque. 

The morning on the beach is the gala hour of the day 
here, and besides an invigorating bath, a little mingling with 
the human crowd, and a few feeble efforts at social inter- 
course, keep alive our ideas of civilization. In a couple 
of hours all wend their silent way back to the scattered 
houses, to meet again on the same shore, and to enact the 
same drama, on the following morning. 

The great south bay ends here and of course there is ex- 
cellent sailing, but no fishing. The professional fishermen 
with long seines catch daily large numbers of blue fish, and 
an occasional Spanish mackerel, in the sea, but for amateur 
Nimrods there is no sport, except that a few small perch 
sometimes tempt me to piscatory amusement for the pleas- 
ure of my boys. The roads are sandy and dusty about us, 
and the vehicles for driving are primitive, and not up- 
holstered for delicate persons, or invalids, but walking. can 
be done here under peculiar facilities — a noble stretch of 
level country, and an exhilarating atmosphere. 

We read novels, too, and study quietly the phenomena of 
nature about us. And such is life in Westhampton. 

Our quaint cottage is almost hidden from the road by 
trees and shrubbery, which throw a cool shade, and which 
do not, as Bonner's trees in his advertised country-place in 
Westchester county did, " furnish an agreeable shelter for 
the mosquitos." 

We have watched with interest for several days two 
robins, who are rearing a brood of young in one of the 
trees close to our house ; faithful exemplars of ornitholog- 
ical virtue, they are illustrating anew the oft-repeated mira- 



cle of reproduction, and showing us that instinct makes 
more devoted parents than our boasted human intelligence 
does with our superior race. Is it ignoble to observe the 
birds, and plants, and trees, and to enjoy the stillness of 
the country ? It cannot be, for it elevates us above the petty 
annoyances of life, and introduces us to the pure and the 
beautiful. How much refreshment we gain from studying 
the habits of a true robin ! — how many lessons of patience ! 
And how thought is stimulated to comprehend the nature 
of that intelligent faculty that permeates all forms of life. 
A tree, or even an humble herb, is full of beauty and in- 
struction, if we study its organism, and observe its fidelity 
to the laws of its being. All plant-life is interesting, if we 
look into it with earnest purpose. And the whole land- 
scape made up of these vegetable creatures is a consum- 
mate work of art. 

" States fall, arts fade — but nature doth not die." 



II. 

Westhampton, L. I., August 5, 1876. 
In my last letter I spoke of plants as interesting living 
organizations, and of plant-life as a realm of active existence 
where we may discover many beautiful and curious things 
to excite our wonder and admiration. The vegetable crea- 
tion used to be considered the lowest form of life, but the 
scientific world has of late years discovered by actual ex- 
periments, that plants have higher relations in the scale of 
life, and are really intelligences as distinct as the animal 
family. One of the celebrated Swiss naturalists insists that 
so far as instinct is concerned he cannot distinguish between 
a cat and a rose tree — that is, he can discover as marked 
traces of intelligences in a rose tree as in a cat. He selects 
a cat as a type of the highest order of animal instinct, and 



6 

argues that he finds equal mind-faculty, as shown in the dis- 
crimination of food, and ingenuity in the overcoming of 
obstacles in the search for food, in the humblest plant as in 
the feline creature. There is no question but that modern 
science has, after profound investigation, elevated plant-life 
to a much higher plane then it used to be accorded. Darwin 
has been a close observer of the phenomena of plant life 
and he has thought the investigation of vegetable energies 
and intelligence a dignified study, so that he has devoted 
years to elucidating certain mysteries in certain families of 
plants. He has published an octavo volume upon the 
" Hybridization of Orchids," showing the most profound 
research and experiments, in a very limited vegetable 
family. 

Mr. Grindon, one of the ablest savants and thinkers in 
England, has published some beautiful essays upon the 
various, interesting phenomena of plant-life, showing that 
the popular mind can readily appreciate such subjects as, 
" The Sleep of Plants," "■ The Distribution of Seeds," &c., 
&c., &c., and that the little things of nature are, when 
thoroughly investigated, as wonderful as the grander ob- 
jects. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, in the " Autocrat of the Break- 
fast table," discourses most eloquently upon trees, attribu- 
ting to them certain moral qualities — and somewhere he 
draws a most beautiful picture of the social relations of 
plants, and the meeting of the dew and the sunshine in the 
soil, mingling socially with the other influences that nourish 
and vitalize the community of subterranean roots. 

The botanist walks among the woods, or in the fields, 
with his eyes open to the beautiful phenomena of nature, 
that the vegetable world is constantly presenting, and he 
finds companions and intelligent friends, in the weeds that 
grow along the road-side. 

No one therefore need be lonesome in the country with 
such social resources at command. 

The marvelous mechanicism of all living organizations is 
not only an agreeable study but the intelligence that lurks 



in the obscurest creatures, even of the vegetable kingdom, 
assures us that there is a common interest and sympathy in 
everything that inherits the principle of life. 

This discussion proceeds from my mention of the re- 
sources of the quiet country life that surrounds us in West 
Hampton. 

I do not, however, mean that we are shut up entirely to 
the companionship of plants, trees, and birds — nor do I 
mean that the voices of nature, ( the roar of the ocean and 
the music of the grasshoppers, the crickets and the toads ) 
can reconcile us to the absence of human voices, and the 
cherished society of human friends. 

I remember that the great English poet remarks : 
" The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice, 
A weapon for the heart, like a sweet voice," 1 

and of course he means the human voice. 

I also recollect that the same poet in his rhapsody about 
the wilderness, and his yearning to be away from the civili- 
zed world, includes in his own wish "'one fair minister," — 
human of couse — which reminds me of the Irishman, who 
when asked if he loved solitude, replied that he liked very 
much to be alone, especially when he had his sweet-heart 
with him. 

Man is certainly a gregarious animal, and as a general 
thing prefers the society of his own race, however com- 
panionable may be books, and plants and birds. 

We are true to our own species even down here, and we 
struggle for some social intercouse with our own kind. We 
meet upon the beach, we pay occasional visits to each other, 
we make up sailing and riding parties and we walk together. 
Last week some young ladies learned and acted a play, 
" The Spirit of Seventy-Six," at General Dix's house. They 
developed the humor of the play with great cleverness, and 
showed unusual histrionic talent. An amateur wrote a 
musical prologue, which added much to the dramatic effect, 
and established the genius of the author as a song writer, 
so that his name may soon be as familiar to the musical 
world as the name of Arthur Sullivan. 



8 

We have had most excellent sermons on Sunday mornings 
by Dr. Snively, formerly of St. Peter's church, Albany, but 
now of (irace church, Brooklyn — and Rev. Dr. Dix, of 
Trinity church, New York. 

One of Dr. Dix's sermons was a very beautiful effort — 
almost a poem — upon the text " And the morning came, 
and Jesus stood upon the shore, but they knew not it was 
Jesus." 

We are promised in a few days an address by Judge 
Brady, of New York, upon " Irish Humor," and a lecture 
upon " Popular Literature," by Dr. Dix. 

Judge Brady is distinguished as a wit, and he sings Irish 
songs and tells Irish stories with an unction that professional 
humorists might envy. 

He entertained us for a while the other night, after the 
play, most delightfully. 

Some one arrived here recently and expressed astonish- 
ment that the place was so small, and was answered by one 
of the aborigines in these smart words : " This place is as 
large as New York only it isn't built up." 

Well, this Suffolk Co. extends from Babylon to Montauk 
Point, and covers a large extent of territory. West Hamp- 
ton is a parish in the town of Southampton, and is sub- 
divided by creeks into sections, so that our address is, in 
geographical correctness : 
Ketchabonack, 

Parish of West Hampton, 

Town of Southampton, 

County of Suffolk, 

Long Island, N. Y. 

We are 70 miles from New York, on the line of the Sag 
Harbor branch of the Long Island R. R. Trains leave 
Hunter's Point, Brooklyn, daily at 9 o'clock a. m. and 4 p. 
M. Three hours and a half of purgatory in the cars, with 
good luck, will generally bring you to West Hampton. 
Some people — especially sni]je-shooting people — have great 
fondness for Long Island and its sea-girt shore. When 
General Dix was minister to France, some one asked him 



9 

if Paris was not the Paradise of the world, and the General 
conscientiously replied that he could easily be satisfied with 
the French capital if the city had a little strip of the south 
side of Long Island attached to it. 

The moon is full, and the sky is clear. We are going to 
the beach to-night to witness the spectacle of the moon 
rising on the ocean. The ocean is most impressive at night. 
Its great mystery is deepened by a shadowy twilight. While 
looking up from the bosom of the water to the serene sky 
above, grand thoughts fill the mind, and we are content to 
feel ourselves a part of the vast Eternity. 



III. 

Catalpa Cottage, Westhampton, L. I., 

August 12, 1876. 

I date this epistle from " Catalpa Cottage," which is the 
new descriptive and poetical title our house has received 
from my progeny, who have a keen sense of the fitness of 
things, and who insist upon a distinct and special name for 
their " local habitation." 

It is so called in honor of a superb catalpa tree that 
grows in front of us, and under whose grateful shade our 
hammocks are hung. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, in speaking of the old elm on 
the Boston Common, called it a "pleasing vegetable," and I 
am certain I can speak with equal enthusiasm about our 
favorite tree. Only a short time since it was in full bloom 
— covered with fragrant blossoms it seemed like a gigantic 
bouquet of flowers. 

It is a clean and delightful tree, and it takes fifty years to 
build up such a pyramid of green ! We recklessly destroy 
great trees without reflecting upon the years employed in 
perfecting their symmetrical proportions. Ruskin speaks 
of them as " the architectural edifices we call trees." He 

B 



10 

has a profound appreciation of their value in art, and their 
individual claims to respect as marvels of construction. 

Downing declared that "a landscape without trees is like a 
caliph without a beard;" and who, with any knowledge of 
the picturesque, or any aesthetic feeling, can fail to com- 
prehend how essential they are in all landscape art ? 

The soil of Long Island is so light, and the winds so con- 
stant, that the growing of trees here is a labor of love. 
Gen. Dix's experiments in arboriculture on his place have 
been utter failures, and he now has succumbed to the inevi- 
table, and grows only indigenous ones, which are generally 
large shrubs, and never very shapely. I doul)t if he could 
witness the cutting down of a fine tree anywhere without 
feeling it to be a heinous crime, and uttering an indignant 
remonstrance, not in the gentle tones of Morris's old song, 
" Woodman spare that tree," but in a sterner voice of com- 
mand, "Shoot him on the spot." One advantage of the 
discipline of Long Island is that it has taught him the value 
and beauty of trees. 

An amateur artist of culture and skill has been spending 
a few days with us, and as drawing is with him recreation, 
his pencil is never idle when in the country. He painted 
a very clever sketch in oil of the picturesque porch of this 
house, and made many studies in black and white of picto- 
rial material which abounds in this ancient locality. 

Recently he was on a sketching excursion to Coney 
Island, and while making a study in color of some goats, a 
party of nine women appeared in front of him, and one of 
the group asked him to paint them. Appalled at the pro- 
position of painting nine women in a few minutes, he mod- 
estly declined the honor, when one of the spinsters remark- 
ed snarlishly, "he will paint goats, but he won't paint wo- 
men." However, he offered to paint one damsel, if that 
would satisfy them, and he selected one with a picturesque 
hat, trimmed with a blue ribbon, stood her off at a proper 
distance, and painted her upon his canvass as effectively as 
he could. When his sketch was completed he called them 
all into convention to witness and criticise his work. One 



11 

of the maidens, an enthusiastic one, immediately exclaim- 
ed, "that's our Maggie and her blue ribbon." 

I have written you how bracing is the air of this region, 
and how freighted with ozone is the atmosphere, but al- 
though health is quite universal, there is some physical suf- 
fering here as elsewhere. The mother of our hostess is 
now eighty-five years old, and reasonably active and clear- 
headed. She has a secret enemy, however, in the way of 
rheumatism. Not long since, a Dr. Post, of New York, 
was visiting here, and recognizing his eminent ability, she 
asked him to cure her rheumatic distemper. He said en- 
couragingly he thought he could, and proceeded to question 
her about the symptoms. One of his first inquiries was, 
" How long have you been troubled with rheumatism." 
She replied promptly, " about seventy years." That was a 
poser, and he retired from the case in the best order he 
could, remarking facetiously that the disease was too 
chronic for an Esculapius to reach. 

A few days since we made an excursion, with a pleasant 
party, to visit a romantic tomb isolated in the woods about 
seven miles off. We found the spot without much trouble, 
after a delightful drive. The tomb is about ten feet square, 
built of brick, in gothic style, and contains the bodies of 
two lovers of an unfortunate girl, who erected this monu- 
ment in their memory. Her history is shrouded in romance. 
She had been brought up among the Indians, and was res- 
cued and educated by a gentleman, to whom she became 
engaged to be married. A reprieve, however, was granted 
her by his tragic death upon a western steamboat. But she 
loved him, and as love is one of the certitudes of life that 
we cannot well do without, for the great German poet who 
knew the depths of the human heart, has written : 

" Who loves no more and errs no more, 
-A.s well were in his grave," 

she mourned his sad fate, and soon attached herself to his 
brother. Death, the spoiler, came again and robbed her 
of this second lover before the " two hearts that beat as 
one" had been cemented by the nuptial tie. 



12 

In her despair and grief, she sought for some secluded 
spot where she might bury her lovers, and commune with 
their spirits unseen by mortal eyes. Somehow she got to 
Long Island, and considering the woods hereabouts as 
much of a wilderness as her fancy painted, she built a me- 
morial structure, where their bodies were placed in metallic 
coffins. This mural edifice she wreathed with cypress 
leaves, and visited periodically for years, often spending 
hours in the chamber with the dead. The moral of which 
may be found in Mrs. Caroline Norton's song, " Love Not" 
— for the thing we love may change or die. Our heroine 
"loved not wisely, but two well." Yet as the ideal shape, 
to which sentiment clings, springs from out the mind, and 
forms the idols which draw us on with fatal spell ; and as 
" The light of a whole life die.s 
When love is done ;" 

she, with a woman's fortitude, turned her heart towards a 
third lover, an Episcopal clergyman, who proved to be no 
luring phantom, for he actually married her. The incidents 
of this romantic narrative are true, and illustrate with 
graphic power the boundless character of woman's affec- 
tion ! 

While viewing this romantic toml), in the solitude of the 
woods, and dwelling upon its interesting history, memory is 
busy with problems of the past, and we ask of our own 
hearts if love is only the frenzy of youth. 

It is said, by St. Theresa, I believe, that God has for- 
bidden the prince of darkness to love, as the most terrible 
punishment he could inflict. 

If love is, therefore, such a glorious prerogative, we can- 
not be criticised for loving much and often. 

This Indian girl acted out her destiny with courage, and 
her soul selected one idol after another, until all sentiment 
was merged in matrimony, which is the end and aim of most 
novels, and why should it not be a fit termination of a true 
story. 

Whether she goes to that tomb any more, or is occupied 
solely with practical domestic duties, occasionally making 



13 

moral pocket handkerchiefs for the heathen, is a question I 

have not asked. Let her rest in peace. 

But my own thoughts ! What sort of pictures did memory 

evoke out of my own buried past ? I cannot say, but I 

know, 

" I thought of days 

Gone by and things, 

And things." 



IV. 

Catalpa Cottage, Westhampton, L. I., 

August 28th, 1876. 

I find that the town of Southampton, of which the par- 
ish of Westhampton is a part, was the first town settled by 
the English in the state of New York. Settlers were here 
in considerable numbers in 1640, and in that year they were 
confirmed in actual possession l)y a deed from the Shinne- 
cock Indians, dated December 13, 1640, in which the In- 
dians, who called themselves " the native inhabitants and 
true owners of the eastern part of the Long Island," re- 
leased certain lands to them in consideration of " sixteen 
coates and three-score bushels of Indian corne," and an 
agreement to defend said Indians from " unjust violence " 
of other Indians. The other Indian tribes then adjoining 
were the Montauks, Peaconics, Patchogues, and Poosapa- 
tucks. A tribe called Narragansetts from Connecticut were 
also troublesome neighbors. 

There is a record of a church (Independent until 17 10, 
when it adopted the Presbyterian form of government,) 
being erected in 1641, and another in 1652. The settlers 
were Puritans. They united themselves formally to the 
colony of Connecticut in 1644 — "entering into combination 
with the jurisdiction of Conecticote " — and their union with 
New York did not occur until 1664. 

They adopted an excellent plan of local self-government, 
entirely democratic. The inhabitants all met in convention 
every six months, styling the meeting the "Generall Courte," 



14 

and they agreed upon strict civil laws as measures for the 
safety of the town. I find it was ordered by this town 
meeting June u, 1647, that "the towne is to be divided 
into fortie house-lots, some biger, some less." 

Among the laws of 1654 I discover penalties for various 
offences — the penalt)' for "lying" is stated at "5 shillings, 
and if hee have not to paye shall (// in the stox 5 hours" 
— and for "drunkenness" 16 shillings for the first offence, 
20 for the second, and 30 for the third 

However, there must have been some pretty heavy drink- 
ing in those days by these Puritan Long Islanders, for in 
Gov. Dougan's report of the province of New York, in 
1687, he remarked: "The first year there was 52 pounds 
sterling offered for the excise of Long Island, but I thought 
it unreasonable, it being the Ijcst peopled place in this 
government, and whereas /here's great co>!Si/>/iptio/i of Ritin/n, 
&c., &:c." 

The inhabitants of this end of Long Island are shrewd, 
thrifty and sharp. By their thrift they remain masters and 
owners of the soil, which but for this characteristic would 
long since have passed into other hands. Among cases of 
sharp practice of the early settlers I find the following : A 
carpenter named John Kelly, was examined in court for an 
attempt at bigamy, and for having spoken falsely in declar- 
ing his wife was dead. He excused himself by saying, 
''' sJie was eiead in trespasses and sins'' He had come from 
Barbadoes leaving a wife behind him. 

Whether the air of this salubrious region promotes the 
development of poetical genius I cannot say, but I find in 
the records of this town that a certain John Halsey, who 
was born in the neck called "Wickapogue" in 1796, was a 
poet of no mean ability. 

As a specimen of his poetry I will copy the following 
grim effusion, which he wrote for a tavern-keeper, who re- 
quested him to compose an appropriate device for his sign : 

" Rum, whiskey, brandy, cordial, porter, beer. 
Ale, applejack and gin are dealt out here, 
DihUed, raw, or mixt in any measure. 



15 

To all consumers : come and act your pleasure, 

The above specifics will, in time, God knows, 

Put a period to all your earthly woes. 

Or would you bring life to a splendid close 

Take doulile swigs, repeating dose on dose ; 

A panacea this for every ail, 

'T will use you up — 't was never known to fail, 

Use up your property, ere scarce you know it, 

Use up your character, or sadly blow it, 

Use up your health, and strength, and mind repose. 

And leave mayhap your carcass to the crows." 

I contribute all this historical matter, not merely because 
it is interesting in itself, but to satisfy the criticism ot those 
who look for local information in my epistles rather than 
discjuisitions upon natural history, or personal adventures. 
I hope they will accept this "pipe of peace," and let me 
go on hereafter in my own way. If they do not I now 
threaten to publish in my next letter the full list of names 
of the 821 "Inhabitants of ye Town of Southampton" 
made on the 15th of Sept. 1698, "comprising Christian 
Males, Christian ffeamales, negro Slaves men, and women 
negro Slaves." 

In the family records of this town there appears, in the 
first or second year of the settlement, the name of Henry 
Pierson, who is a direct lineal ancestor of Mr. John B. 
Pierson of Troy, president of the Troy City Bank, whose 
father, the Hon. Job Pierson, was born, I believe, in the 
town of Southampton. 

In a former letter I spoke disparagingly of the Long Is- 
land R. R., and alluded to the journey from New York in 
their cars as purgatorial discipline. Now one of my most 
respected friends here complains of my allusions as being 
unfair to the road. He insists that the new president, Mr. 
Poppenhusen, has completely revolutionized the affairs of 
the company, which under Mr. Charlick's management were 
antediluvian without doubt ; and that the afternoon train 
now runs from New York to Westhampton in two hours and 
thirty-seven minutes, and has a drawing-room car attached, 
which being placed next to the engine escapes the infernal 



IB 

dust, the chief discomfort that suggested purgatory to my 
mind. He is j^robably correct, as he passes over the road 
very frequently. My only experience since the new regime 
has been with the morning train, which is slow enough, and 
may have warranted the late Artemus Ward in once asking 
a conductor why the cow-catcher was placed in front of 
the train, as there was no danger of its ever overtaking a 
cow ; and he mildly suggested that it should be apjilied in 
the rear, as cows might overtake the train. 

If the afternoon train is agreeable and quick, I am glad 
to admit the fact, and to quiet my esteemed friend's mind, 
will advertise that Poppenhusen is an advance upon Char- 
lick. 

So much for the Long Island Railroad. It may have 
been maligned, but its long and feeble career has given 
much cause for animadversion and ridicule. We have all 
got into the habit of laughing at its deficiencies, and as 
Lord Bacon says that " habit is the magistrate of man's 
life," I may have been merely continuing a bad habit, and 
become blind to its improved condition. 



Catalpa Cottage, Westhampton, L. I., 

September 4th, 1876. 

" This is the parting season — this 
The time when friends are flying ; 
And lovers now, with many a kiss, 
Their long farewells are sighing." 

When people own country places, as only idiots do, ac- 
cording to Balzac, who says wise people visit their friends 
who own them, they generally remain in the country through 
the fall, but the swarm of summer visitors who infest coun- 
try boarding houses begin their migration homewards as 
soon as the autumn sets in. 

Very few people remain at this place after the 15th of 



17 

September. Already the notes of departure are sounded, 
and conditions of separation are the only topics of conver- 
sation. The tinge of sadness, however, that accompanies 
the breaking up of all human associations is qualified by 
the cheering thoughts of home, and the hopes that follow 
us into the future. 

It Is curious how, in nature, autumn prepares for the 
spring, and how indispensable vegetable death is to the new 
vernal life. The leaves have already begun to fall, and 
these, with other vegetable debris, are transformed into an 
enriching mould, which preserves and stimulates the life of 
plants. Death and life are so related in vegetable nature, 
that, in this way, they form the mysterious circle of organic 
life which has neither beginning nor end. So in human 
life, Joy springs out of sorrow, and it has been eloquently 
argued that there could be no happiness without its com- 
plement of sin and suffering — no high lights without cor- 
respondent shadows — that pleasure and pain are natural 
congeners, each indispensable to the existence of the other. 

Before, however, bidding a final adieu, and eating my 
last " phariseed crab," as the cook calls it, at a certain hos- 
pitable mansion near by — where also the nurse speaks of 
the " Sweet Spirits of Nature " as one of the remedies in 
the domestic pharmacopoeia — I must review the various en- 
tertainments that have been crowded into the last fortnight. 

In the way of social gayety there was a hop at Mr. Mor- 
timer Howell's that was quite pleasant, where dancing to 
the music of a harp and violin was indulged in chiefly by 
ladies, for dancing men were " like angel visits, few and 
far between." Then our musical faculties were tickled by 
concerts, one by professional performers, whose piano play- 
ing and violin playing were really of a high order, and de- 
lighted the audience, although when the violinist was exe- 
cuting " The Carnival of Venice," an ancient native cried 
out, " Give us an old-fashioned jig." 

Another by amateurs was a charming entertainment, and 
reflected great credit upon its projectors, who trimmed the 
chapel most tastefully with ferns, leaves and rushes, and 





18 

whose vocal efforts in madrigals and songs gave great pleas- 
ure to all who were present. 

Then in the line of more strictly intellectual entertain- 
ments came three lectures — one by Judge Brady, upon 
"Sand," who selected this original title as a vehicle for in- 
troducing humorous anecdotes and stories, illustrating Irish 
and German humor. I could not repeat one of them with 
any satisfaction, for the judge's inimitable grimace and 
manner are a chief element of their success. The audience 
were delighted with the talent and versatility displayed by 
the lecturer, and such a merry, laughing, satisfied assem- 
blage is seldom seen at a public entertainment. 

The second lecture was from Gen. Dix, upon "The War 
with Tripoli." Those who thought this an anticjuated and 
dry subject were doomed to a sad disai)j)ointment, for the 
general showed not only eminent literary strength in its 
treatment, but he made it so wonderfully interesting and 
attractive that those who listened were brought into im- 
mediate magnetic sympathy with the speaker, and were fre- 
(^uently aroused into enthusiasm, especially during the 
eloquent peroration, which was delivered with great power. 

The third lecture was from Prof. Doremus upon " Popu- 
lar Science." He took up Judge Brady's subject of ''''Sand," 
and told us of its scientific relations, properties and possi- 
bilities, and made it his chief theme. He permeated his 
discussion of scientific topics with apt |)oetical quotations 
and clever anecdotes, so as to sugar coat the science bolus, 
and delight the audience with his literary legerdemain. As- 
sisted by Dr. Wilkinson, he performed many beautiful 
experiments, having ordered from New York the necessary 
apparatus. His lecture was exceedingly popular, and gave 
much enjoyment to the people in Westhampton. 

I express my gratitude to these gentlemen in this public 
way, and assure them that their charming lectures were not 
written upon sand, so far as the hearts and memories of 
those who heard them are concerned. 

In the ecclesiastical line we have been in luck too, for, 
besides able and elociuent discourses from Dr. Dix and Dr. 



19 

Snively, we had a noble and powerful sermon from the Rev. 
W. W. Battershall, rector of St. Peter's church, Albany, on 
the "Mystery of Godliness." 

Last year I suggested to some friends — who have been 
struggling for years, without satisfactory success, to em- 
bellish their grounds with trees and shrubs, — that a pyramid 
of old stumps, covered with hardy running vines, would 
prove an ornamental object. They adopted my idea, and 
asked me to give their gardener full directions for construct- 
ing this novel work of landscape art. So the stumps were 
gathered and formed into a cone twelve or fifteen feet high, 
and I forwarded last fall suitable vines to grow over them. 
Of course this experiment is not entirely successful as yet, 
for some of the vines died, and others have made slow 
growth on account of the excessive drought of the season, 
although the vines selected are all rapid-growing climbers. 

Now some of the members of this family are disposed to 
be facetious about my collection of stumps, and are poking 
a good deal of clever fun at me on its account. One of 
these precocious individuals inquired of me why I did not 
mention the '' Stumpery" in my letters to the Trojan, and 
asked if I would incorporate into an epistle a description 
of it if he would comjoose one. Of course I agreed to the 
proposition at once. Then a convention of the family was 
called, and brilliant ideas were contributed by various mem- 
bers, until at last all suggestions were reduced to concrete 
form by the facile pen of the ambitious member, who hand- 
ed over to me the composition which I append below. It 
needs no further introduction. 

" One of the most conspicuous and remarkable objects 
in the Westhampton landscape, is the ' Stumpery ' in the 
grounds of Seafield. For this eminent work of art and na- 
ture combined, the little world of Ketchabonack is in- 
debted to the head and hands of a gentleman well known 
in literary and artistic circles. Observing the lack of trees 
in the parts immediately adjacent to the sea, this ingenious 
person conceived the idea of collecting stumps, transport- 



20 

ing them to one spot, piling them up in pyramidal or hay- 
stack form, and planting around the base of the structure 
the choicest running vines, to cover the mound of dead 
wood with masses of living green. The Stumpery is the 
result ; in more ways than one a success. It attracts and 
absorbs the attention of the astonished traveler ; fascinates 
the curious ; awakens the envy of the neighbors, and occa- 
sionally calls forth the derision of vulgar and inconsiderate 
youth. It has also provided a secure harbor for the va- 
grant cat, which finds in the deep heart of the romantic 
pile a congenial and inaccessible dwelling, so that the 
Stumpery has come to serv'e the purpose of a warren for 
that animal and other small deer. In honor of his inven- 
tion, the owners of the Stumpery at once conferred upon 
its projector the title of baron : and mindful of the neces- 
sity of adding to the otherwise empty distinction a territo- 
rial designation, they have named him in full ' the Baron 
Stumpydoro,' thus happily declaring, under the phraseolog}- 
of heraldry, what genius and skill can accomplish with no 
better material than barren stumps. If you would view 
the Stumper}- aright, you should, of course, visit it in the 
pale moonlight, as did one of our native poetesses, who 
thereupon burst forth into lyric strain in verses of which 
we are sure your readers will deem one quite enough : 

' O, Stumpery ! so rough and bare. 
Infested by thine eldritch cat, 

Thy ragged roots, exposed to air. 
Strike me, and all beholders, flat !' " 

The gifted female poet, from whose inspiration the grace- 
ful verse, which forms the close of the article above, eman- 
ates, was actually struck fldX, by her dress being caught on 
some salient roots upon her first inspection of the " Stump- 
ery." She therefore writes with feeling, and may not al- 
ways be equally felicitous ; for Lord Byron ever insisted 
that poetr}' is the expression of excited passion, and could 
not be uniformly sparkling, any more than an earthquake 
could be continuous, or a fever eternal. 



21 

VI. 

CaTALPA COTTAriE, Westhampton, L. I., 

September nth, 1876. 

In a few days I must bid adieu — a vain adieu — to Long 
Island with all its charm of quaintness and repose; and soon 
the summer, with its pleasures and incidents, will vanish 
into the past to become a mere phantom of memor\-. \\'hat 
a storehouse memory becomes as we advance in life, crowd- 
ed with scenes, and adventures, and images I Every heart 
is a spirit that wanders back into its peopled chambers, and 
broods with a miser's love upon scenes and things that 
have been the inspiration of our lives, while it shrinks in 
dread from the dark corners where lie rro''ching the mis- 
takes and errors that have thwarted our aims, and deformed 
our careers. 

To move along without solving the riddles that constant- 
ly meet us is one of the chief sources of regret in life. An 
inexorable fate hurries us on without explaining the enig- 
mas. I must now leave the sea-margin without the slightest 
enlightenment as to " what the wild waves are saying," and 
I must assume again one of the risks of life by trusting my 
fortunes upon the perilous rails that traverse this island. It 
was thought for years that the Long Island R. R. would 
have to be laid up for the entertainment of the curious in a 
museum of antiquities, but Poppenhusen has rescued it 
from such an ignoble destiny, and has really galvanized it 
into a modern institution, at least so the pundits of this 
region say. Speaking of danger reminds me of a narrow 
escape from drowning that I had the other afternoon. I 
was catching crabs with my two little boys in water about 
twelve feet deep, and the current being strong, as we passed 
along under a bridge, I seized hold of the boards above, 
which I could reach only by standing up, to steady the boat 
for anchoring. The boat naturally slipped from under me 
and drifted off, while my hold above was very precarious, 
so of course I fell into the stream. As I cannot swim, 
the situation was extremely dangerous, but I managed to 
grasp the lateral support to one of the upright posts of the 



22 

bridge, and by a supreme muscular effort that would have 
done credit to a gymnast, I succeeded in climbing up on 
top of the structure. 

My crabbing ambition was a little checked by the adven- 
ture, and of course, 

" A sadder and a wiser man 
I rose the morrow morn. " 

Now such experience would naturally elicit the sympathy 
of friends, tempered with moderate ridicule, but I was 
simply criticised for my carelessness. It is the prerogative 
of human nature to exalt its own judgment, and to ante- 
date its predictions, especially in the way of advisory know- 
ledge. 

" Without a friend what were humanity, 

To hunt our errors up with a good grace ? 

Consoling us with—' Would you had thought twice !' 

Ah ! if you had followed my advice." 

In the many vicissitudes of life through which I have 
passed, I have observed this peculiarity of friendship so 
often that now when I make a false step, or transgress in 
any way, I look instinctively for some sapient, close friend 
to utter a dismal Pharasaical diatribe. A great English poet 
whose knowledge of human friendship came from an ex- 
perience that tested with crucial analysis the veneers and 
shams of social life, alludes to this unfortunate propensity 
in the following graphic verse : 

" Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, 

Sadder than owl songs, or the midnight blast, 
Is that portentious phrase, ' I told you so,' 

Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, 
Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, 
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, 
And solace your slight lapse 'gainst ' bonos mores,' 
With a long memorandum of old stories." 
The stream into which I fell is a deep cut that connects 
Quantuc Bay with the Great South Bay. In the latter the 
water is entirely fresh, at this point, and never even brack- 
ish except when a stiff west wind drives the salt water up 
from Fire Island, a long stretch of forty miles. There is 
no inlet to the sea nearer, and the influence of the sea is so 



23 

counteracted that there are no tides but wind tides. The 
bay is kept fresh by the numerous creeks that flow into it. 
From Brooklyn to Montauk Point, on Long Island, there 
are one hundred and fifty creeks that flow towards the 
ocean. At the bath houses on the beach here there is a 
driven well, about loo feet from the sea, that brings up pure 
fresh water in abundance out of the sand. 

In the wilderness, a few miles north of us, surrounded by 
pine trees, is a large fresh water lake, over a mile long, 
called the Great Pond; and about twenty miles west of us 
there is another large lake called Ronkonkoma Pond. It 
is strange how ample a supply of fresh water there is on 
this narrow island to refresh and fertilize its vegetation, and 
without which it would be like an Asian desert. 

It is just eight miles across the island here to Riverhead, 
an enterprising town of about three thousand inhabitants — 
so live and thrifty as to contain five churches, a court house, 
jail, and other county buildings, it being the county seat of 
this (Suffolk) county. The whole way over, after you pass 
the railway station here, is an unbroken sterile wilderness, 
covered with scrub-i)ine, and scrub-oak — so monotonous 
that the stunted trees are of uniform height, and so dull 
that never is a living creature seen nowadays, though for- 
merly there was an abundance of deer, whose only fodder 
must have been huckleberry bushes. Of course we do not 
visit Riverhead except upon urgent business. In this wild 
fires have recently been raging, burning over from 5,000 to 
10,000 acres of land, and reaching into the better timber 
lands surrounding Riverhead and Atlanticville. The smoke 
of these fires we could observe from this house, rolling up 
in vast columns over the horizon, and filling the air with 
the unmistakable odor of conflagration. The country is 
so dry that the fires progressed, under a high wind, with 
fearful and merciless speed. The railroad depot at Quogue, 
two and a half miles from us, was saved by counter fires 
being set, and many persons in Quogue moved out their 
valuables for fear of being burned up. It is said the fires 
advanced three miles in three-quarters of an hour. Much 



24 

destruction would have occurred on this side of the island, 
in the agricultural jjortion, had not the wind fortunately 
changed. 

But I must close this correspondence, which has already 
been eked out beyond my original idea, and not indite an- 
other epistle " by the sad sea waves." I maybe at home 
even before this letter is published. I am only waiting the 
return of some members of my family from the Centennial 
Exposition in Philadelphia. That extraordinary exhibition 
is a most valuable means of education and vehicle of know- 
ledge for the young, and all children of twelve years of age 
and over, should be sent there as to school. It communi- 
cates the best current historical and geographical informa- 
tion, and a fortnight's visit there is better than years of for- 
eign travel, so far as instruction is concerned. The best 
art of every country is there represented in the most at- 
tractive form. No one can ignore its importance as an 
educational institution. 

But a visit there is terribly fatiguing. A thousand ob- 
jects of interest appeal with magnetic attraction to the mind 
at the same moment, and the effort to elect and discriminate 
is a constant intellectual strain. The expenditure of ner- 
vous force that is inevitable is fearfully exhausting. A 
friend of mine, an artist, was at the London Exposition for 
a month, and studied critically its various departments, but 
especially its treasures of art. He was so used up, his 
sympathetic nature so exhausted, that as he travelled to- 
wards Germany, and passed through Holland, the quaint, 
quiet, flat features of that peculiar country inspired such a 
grateful feeling of rest that he stopped among the Dutch 
and remained there four years to recover from the effects of 
what he called "that infernal exposition." 

I leave this seashore country just as the glorious autumn 
is coming on. I know that the landscape in the interior is 
gayer in the fall, and -that nature in the mountains seems to 
be preparing for a carnival by putting on her most fantastic 
apparel, yet the garish colors that deck the hills have not a 
more picturesque quality to the artistic eye than the tender 



browns that embellish the autumnal landscape of this level 
region. Nor is the out-of-door air more seductive, nor the 
atmosphere more mellow. 

The harvest in the south of Europe, where the grape is 
cultivated, seems to be the ideal romance of the fall to 
most lovers of the beautiful, but England's chief poet has 
defended her autumn season, claiming practical strength if 
not poetical quality, in the following lines : 

" An English autumn, though it hath no vines, 
Blushing with Bacchant coronals along 
The paths, o'er which the fair festoon entwines 

The red grape in the sunny lands of song, 
Hath yet a purchased choice of choicest wines ; 

The Claret light, and the Madeira strong. 
If Britain mourns her l)leakness, we can tell her. 
The very best of vineyards is the cellar." 
Good bye. 



